Quantum Decadence
by Woodrow Rynne
Summary: In a world where magic no longer exists and has become little more than a fairytale, three teenagers must set out to rediscover it, following the trail of one elusive Rose Weasley. Or face Armageddon and end of the earth as they know it.
1. Prologue: September, 2028

_**A/N: **So, this is my new fic. It's not exactly next-gen; more like next-next gen (did that make sense?). Anyway, you will find out soon enough :P_

_Just so there's no confusion, the Chapters which are titled as dates(like this one) would relate the past, and others would be the present. If you're still unclear, don't fret, because the second chapter will clear everything. :)_

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><p><em>Genres: Adventure, Young Adult, Romance<em>

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><p><strong><em>Quantum Decadence<em>**

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><p><em><span>Prologue: September, 2028<span>_

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><p>I wonder how it all started. Sitting now in this dimly lit cell where the sound of my breathing echoes in terrible whispers around the walls, and the only light comes from the flickering lamp in the middle, throwing huge shadows on the dank floors, I wonder when it actually started.<p>

This madness.

As I try to gather my thoughts into a coherent tale, I must confess that I don't regret it—anything, everything that I did. I was driven by rage, fuelled by vengeance, but regret is one emotion I'll never feel again, be what may its price.

I suppose I should start my tale with the curiosity. Yes, that's what started it all—my inherent trait that was all at once, something that annoyed me no end and something I prized. Revered, even.

I was eight when I first realised, on however a subconscious level, the extent of this particular trait. My parents, of course, accredited it to another of those annoying childhood phases.

It was Christmas Eve, and as always, the Burrow seemed like a small town in itself, housing what seemed like hundreds of people, but where actually only around thirty very excited wizards and witches milled about, all of whom were related to me. I was outside with a few of my older, yet equally intolerable cousins. James, Teddy and Molly were building a snow-fort and Albus squatted beside me as I gazed at the snow covered ground.

Albus was the only one who I, even back then, actually liked and truly trusted. Of course, little did I know how much he would come to be involved in my life and I how I would-  
>But I'm getting ahead of myself.<p>

So there we were, sitting on the porch listening to James whining loudly and Teddy and Molly sniggering about something. I was only half listening to their argument which was mildly amusing.

Insufferable prats, they were.

I gazed at the snow twinkling dully in the sunlight.

"Al, why does snow twinkle?" I asked suddenly, turning towards my black-haired, green-eyed cousin. He chewed his lips.

"Because it's wet," he replied with utmost conviction, grinning as if I was being silly.

Oh, how that answer would amuse me later as I would pour over books. Now though, when I have seen so much and learnt too much, all my tired brain can manage is broken, incoherent snippets from a book on Psychology that was read eons ago.

I will not hinder my tale though, exhausted as my ailing body is, for I'm determined to purge myself of it.

Back to my eighth Christmas. It was afternoon when the last guests arrived, Uncle George and Aunt Angelina; the latter's stomach resembled a quaffle, yet she beamed brightly when she arrived, clutching by hand one sullen Fred Weasley, who scowled as Victoire rushed forward to kiss his cheeks.

"It moved!" was the first thing she exclaimed as she appeared in the doorway. She gently put one hand on her swollen stomach, looking more raving mad than gleeful, I remember thinking then.

As everyone (except a few unimpressed children) rushed forward to welcome the newcomers, I found myself wondering once again.

Later, in the comparative quiet of the kitchen, I approached my mother; her hair had slipped from her bun and now resembled a crow's nest. She worked diligently along with Grandma Molly and Aunt Audrey.

"Mum," I jumped on the balls of my feet, eager to know. When she didn't listen, I pulled at her apron.

She glanced at me, "Rose, wait- Audrey could you pass that ladle please? Thank you—," she grabbed it and stirred a cauldron. "Yes, Rose? What is it?" she asked absentmindedly.

"Mum, where do babies come from?" I asked at once.

I remember noticing how all three of them stopped whatever they were doing to turn to me for a second, before there was much clearing of throats and my mother's neck had gotten sufficiently darker.

But she answered, like I knew she would, because grown-ups always knew everything.

"An angel blesses us with the baby, honey." Mum's gaze flickered from the stew to me for a second and she smiled.

"Then how did the baby come into Aunt Angelina's stomach?" I persisted, unsatisfied.

"Uhm...he uses magic, dear, of course," my mother answered. "He uses his wand."

Oh, of course. I was pretty disappointed for not thinking that myself. But that quickly dissipated when another thing occurred to me.

I looked up to see Aunt Audrey mouthing 'good one' to mum from across the room that and sniggering. My eight year old brain could not, of course, comprehend the hidden innuendo and I ploughed on.

"Mum?" I asked again. My mother mm'ed. "Does he give babies to the Muggles too?"

"Of course, dear."

"So the Muggles know about magic?"

"Uh..."

"But you said they didn't, so how can he...?"

"Urm..."

"And why can't the angel give the baby straight to us? Why does it have to go in the stomach?" I was no longer stopping for my mother to answer as a tirade of questions spewed forth from my mouth. It was as if I had no control over it—so many questions. So, so many. "Where does this angel live anyway? In the sky? But Mrs. Hess says the sky is only the atmosph-,"

My mother was saved from responding or possibly berating me (no, I don't think she would have scolded me for asking questions, in however obnoxious a fashion. In this way, my mother was very much encouraging), by the entrance of Aunt Ginny.

"Hermione!" she appeared in the doorway a little out of breath and immediately spotted my mother. "Hermione, it's Kingsley. He wants to talk to you about something."

"Now? Is everything okay?"

"He _says_ it is," Ginny replied with a roll of her eyes. "But you know him. You'd better talk."

Mum removed her apron with a nod. "I'm going."

"And let me do something about that hair!" Ginny called after her, but she only waved her hand. I stared after her, disappointed as she disappeared. Aunt Ginny took her position instead.

"I suppose I should help you guys," she said with a sigh to Grandma and Aunt Audrey. Then she turned to me. "Hey Rosie!" she ruffled my hair.

I patted it down again, scowling when she wasn't looking. I hated it when people did that. Wasn't my hair unmanageable as it is without people always messing it up? I quickly exited the kitchen after that.

As I closed the door behind me, I heard the muffled laughs of Grandma and Auntie.

"Ah, Rose," Audrey chuckled. "I swear that girl asks more questions than the rest of the kids put together. And I thought Molly was bad."

I remember how the lack of answers left me unsatisfied and positively squirming. In the hours that followed, that was the foremost thing on my mind. While my brainless cousins were busy discussing Quidditch and guessing gifts, I was busy thinking of alternate possibilities.

As the evening drew to a close, one thing I was sure of was that either my mum didn't know the answer or wasn't telling me. Because for some reason, my brain refused to believe that angels existed.

So I came up with a plan as only an eight year old could.

Now I was going to ask _Dad_.

..

Curiosity. Yes, that was the core of it. But everything did not stem from it. There was much more that happened, so many more anecdotes that are left to be related. So much more has to be revealed before you understand why everyone in the Wizarding World speaks of me at this very moment, even as I wither away in this dying light.

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><p><em>Reviews- critical or constructive, are always welcome and appreciated. :)<em>


	2. Chapter 2: Resistance

**A/N**: Hey, look, I'm back with an update after merely three months. Surprise, huh? Sorry about that, my motivation to write has been missing lately. :(

But thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! :D I haven't responded to everyone; my PM doesn't seem to be working at the moment? I don't know whether this is a minor glitch or what, but if someone is having the same problem, please do let me know!

I think I should warn you all before you read further, though :)

1- This story _will_ contain Science. Loads of it. (As the title might suggest).

2- Creating likeable characters is not my forte, nor something I like doing ;)

Okay, now I feel pompous enough, so read on! :P

_Edit: Oh my, I can't believe I forgot the date!_

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Resistance<strong>

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><p><em>February 20, 2101<em>

_._

_Story? Alright, alright. I'll tell you again of the legendary Harry Potter. He was a great wizard, oh yes, he was. Resplendent beard and moustache and a commanding persona as he grew older. But, of course, one of his most legendary feats happened when he was merely one. Yes, yes, as young as your brother. The evil wizard Voldemort reigned then, his power spread quickly through Britain. He went after Potter, merely an infant, because he sensed the power in the young 'un. How? Don't ask how; he was wicked and had various means at his disposal, I daresay- surely you don't wish me to name them. Oh no, I won't. It's not right for a child's ears. Don't make that face now or I won't—_

The shrill sound of a ringing bell startled Melanie out of the stupor she had fallen in. There was a great bustling and grating sound of dozens of desks as the students started filing outside, signalling the end of class. Trying to shake away the last cobwebs of sleep that clung to her, she grabbed her notebook and bag with one hand and followed them, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. She scowled at the History Professor's back as she left.

History was the single most infuriating subject to be ever taught. And not merely because it was compulsory for her last year- though, of course, if she had her way, she would have long banished the subject from the curriculum. Oh no, it was the fact that she _knew_ it was all lies, twisted until they contained not a shred of truth; that she had to _sit_there and listen to all the rubbish the Professor spouted and could not say anything about it...She closed her eyes in an effort to calm the rage that oh-so-very-often bubbled inside her.

_Just a few more weeks_, she reminded herself. A few more weeks and she would finally _know_, and so would the world, if all went according to plan. A plan that hadn't been hatched yet... A mere plan, (here Melanie had to take a deep breath to tamp down the laughter that the rage had somehow turned into) was all that remained between them and the possible downfall of the entire government of Britain. The pounding of her pulse behind her ears wasn't nervousness; it was excitement, pure thrill. It was all she could do to not jump, right then, in the crowded corridor and _laugh_. Nevertheless, a huge grin crept onto her face by the time she left the building in search of her cousin. If someone saw her then, they would have most likely marked the elation on her face to the prospect of meeting her boyfriend or the excitement of the approaching weekend or something else so trivial and innocent. Finally letting out a quiet laugh as she reached the grounds, she smirked. Oh, she was excited alright.

...

She finally spotted her cousin outside the main gate, sidestepping a pair of giggling girls. Oliver seemed to have spotted her first, though, as he was there the next moment, falling into step beside her and taking her heavy bag onto his own shoulder.

That brought her up short.

"It's impossible to miss that nest you call hair," he said flippantly as a manner of explanation.

Breaking out of her frozen stance, she jogged to catch up with him.

"Excuse me?"

"I said-,"

"I heard you the first time," she cut him off impatiently, brushing a stray hair out of her face. She hadn't been insulted by his comment. Her dull brown hair had always been frizzy, but it was almost unmanageable now due to the lack of care she showed towards it these days. She was sure her mother would have a heart attack if she saw her dishevelled appearance.

"You're acting polite," she commented slowly, not taking her eyes away from his face. He glanced at her with an amused expression, one that she had seen a time too many.

Oliver was a very good actor.

"Gentlemanly, even," she continued. "You are as far from a gentleman as one can be—,"

"Oi!" he interrupted indignantly.

Melanie groaned with realisation. "What did you _do_?"

They couldn't afford a mistake, not this close to March. And goodness knew she would kill him if he had done something idiotic. Like blurting out the whole story to Aunt Kristine, which she admitted was a very Oliver thing to do.

"_What did you do?_" she hissed more urgently, just as they reached the bus stand. "You didn't tell your mother, did you? I told you it was a bad idea to visit her yesterday! I_told_ you she would know something was up if you visited her two days before the holidays started—,"

"Of course I didn't tell her!" he cut through her panicked rant, clearly irritated. "What do you take me for?"

She huffed, but her insides eased somewhat. She rubbed her forehead to fight the headache she could feel coming. "Sorry- I just— you _know_ how much I want to do this."

"Do you think I don't?" he replied sourly as a packed bus came rumbling down the street and just as quickly vanished without slowing down. People cursed after it as it went and an old lady commented in a quivering voice, "This country is going to the dogs."

Melanie snorted. If only she knew.

"What happened then?" she asked her cousin, continuing the interrupted conversation.

"Not here," he muttered, looking at a sketchy looking man as he came to stand a little too close to them.

The ride home was silent and unexciting. The only distraction came when Oliver nudged her about halfway there. Her head had been pressed against the window to cool the pounding headache, her eyes closed drowsily. Now she looked up to scowl at him.

"What?"

He didn't say anything, simply gestured stealthily to his right. Glancing up, Melanie spotted the same shabby man they had seen at the bus-stop. He was dressed a little strangely; despite the relatively warmer climate, he wore heavy blue robes that looked thick, even though they were patched and frayed everywhere. His blond hair was unkempt and his face looked haggard.

Definitely a suspicious character.

As she looked, the man glanced up, right at her, his eyes widening a little in shock as if he hadn't expected her to be looking at him. As if— and here Melanie could feel goosebumps rise on her arms— that was what he had been doing before they had noticed him.

"He's following us," Oliver hissed, making her break away her gaze just as the man looked hastily away.

"He's weird," she felt compelled to say, rubbing her arms subconsciously and shuddering a little. "But honestly Oliver," she added in a whisper. "This is a public bus; it's perfectly normal to sit here."

"Let's get down one stop early nevertheless," he replied, his blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Melanie agreed without fuss; something about the man put her on edge, and she wasn't particularly keen to find out what exactly that 'something' was.

So it was that five minutes later they found themselves quickly getting up and scrambling down just as the bus came to a stop. They had stared at the man, perhaps not-so-furtively. However, he didn't look at them again, and didn't even move a muscle as they got down.

It was with a relieved expression that Oliver watched the bus move away, the man clearly visible still seated by the window. Melanie, however, had a very bad gut feeling. Which was very silly, she thought as they continued to walk down the street in silence. Oliver's brows were furrowed as well; he was clearly thinking. She opened her mouth to talk, but he beat her to it.

"Well, that was..."

She felt it before she heard it- a stifling presence behind them. Slow footsteps that were almost silent in the deserted street- the kind you didn't hear until you were listening for them. The kind that _followed_.

She whipped around quite suddenly, making Oliver jump but her eyes were narrowed towards the end of the street. No movement could be seen, unless you counted the edge of a frayed, blue cloak disappearing behind a large tree. If it hadn't been for the circumstances earlier in the day, she honestly would have thought she imagined it.

Her heart was suddenly very, _very_ loud.

"Oliver..." she whispered slowly, calmly, eyes still glued to the tree while her cousin looked around worriedly. "Run."

"What?" he asked confusedly. Loud, much too loud. A figure darted from behind the tree towards them, silhouetted against the sun behind it.

"_Run!_"

He didn't telling again; she could feel his feet slapping against the concrete just behind her as she ran, weighed down by the heavy bag. Adrenaline rushed to her limbs, as she heard a third pair of footfalls behind them, coming closer. Oliver soon overtook her, darting into a dark alleyway; she followed him- skidding from the inertia and almost falling down, but he grabbed her hand at the last moment, dragging her behind her. The man was merely a dozen feet behind them now; she could hear his heavy breathing over her own pounding veins. She bit on her lip and forced her tired limbs faster; soon she was neck to neck with Oliver.

She knew where he was headed, of course. The town square was only a few streets away; if they could reach it before the man caught up with them, they could easily lose him in the crowd.

The next moment was a blur to Melanie; a loud crack pierced the air like a gun-shot, making both of them jump out of their skins, she screeched as she fell to her knees, carrying Oliver along with her, who fell on top of her, flattening her against the road and knocking the air out of her. They lay there for a couple of seconds to catch their breath, before he struggled to get up off her, twisting her ankle as he tried to untangle their limbs. She cried out again.

"Sorry," she heard him say hurriedly from above her. "Where _is_ he?"

What?

She tried to sit up straight and make head and tail of the situation, but he was still atop her, and goodness, was he _heavy_!

"Oliver, get off me!" she finally snapped after several unsuccessful attempts to wriggle out from under him, her vision swimming.

He was off in an instant, and she finally took a deep breath as her lungs started working again.

"Crushed me enough?" she asked him irritably, finally standing up on aching limbs and dusting off her grazed palms and knees. Turning around for any sign of the man, she returned his question is befuddlement, "Where is he?"

The alleyway was empty, save for a cat streaking behind a small, upturned box. The silence was oddly eerie; it was as if he had never been there.

"Did you hear it?" she asked Oliver, trying not to notice just how chilling the sudden disappearance of the man was. It was as though he had melted into the shadows themselves, for there was nowhere to hide in the narrow space and they had felt him behind them not seconds ago. Why would he leave them alone when he had them crippled and prostrate on the ground before him? _How_ did he vanish so suddenly?

"The gun-shot? Yes." Oliver licked his lips; his face was white and drawn, and she knew she looked scarcely better. "The question is- if he had a gun and meant to use it, why didn't he do so before? When we were farther from the residential areas?"

Melanie shrugged, looking around them again, as if expecting him to jump out from the brick walls. If she were to be honest, she wasn't thinking about the situation at all, rather reflecting upon the uncanny feeling that seemed to have settled upon her— as if she was in a strange dream. The rest of the day was a blur compared to what had just happened. She noticed vaguely that her headache was gone.

"Let's get out of here," Oliver said finally, grabbing their bags from the ground and turning around.

Melanie silently followed.

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><p>Her flat, which was on the relative outskirts of their town, could best be described as small and dank. Melanie, however, didn't mind one bit. It was nearer to their school than her house and most importantly, it was <em>quieter<em>- this part of the town. It allowed Oliver, whose rented flat wasn't much farther than hers, smuggle the books quietly from everywhere without suspecting eyes. In many ways, she often considered it sheer luck that they had managed to rent this place at all, what with prices sky-rocketing.

Oliver was now sitting in her tiny living room, if you could call it that, thumbing absentmindedly through the magazines that lay scattered on the table, while she made tea. They hadn't breached the subject that was on their minds yet; it was as if some force was holding them back. It felt like a tabooed subject, and she had started wondering whether she had imagined the whole thing at all. Which was ridiculous, so she decided to broach the topic herself.

"So," she started, turning to face him, while the water boiled on the stove behind her.

Apparently that was all the motivation he needed. "Do you think it was, you know, _them_?" His jaw was set, but his eyes looked guilty. She knew what he was thinking. He felt guilty for acting like a coward. She felt the same. Here they were, planning to break into London and they had run because they couldn't handle a single man?

"I don't think so," she replied, turning back to the stove. "If it was the government, we would already have been dead. They would have killed us first, asked questions later. Not send someone to stalk or spy, or whatever it was that the man wanted."

"Right." he sighed.

"But we'd have to be more careful from now," she bit her lip in worry. That was what worried her, that she couldn't figure out _what_ exactly the person had wanted. Had someone found out about their plan somehow? She shook her head at herself. That was impossible, or at least not very likely. They had taken every precaution, made sure they weren't overheard...

She turned back to Oliver once again, a thought occurring to her. "Have you considered that he might have been a normal kidnapper or mugger or something?" he looked at her with wide eyes, and she knew the thought had occurred to him for the first time too. She laughed. "We have been so paranoid that we failed to think logically as well turned into a pair of cowards, huh?"

He grinned, visible relieved as she was that she had finally voiced the thought that had been bothering them. "I don't like to think running as cowardly, merely not foolish."

They grinned at each other for a moment, before the door burst open. Her roommate walked in, looking tired and grumpy, but she brightened when she spotted her. "Hi Mel!" she greeted enthusiastically.

Melanie gave a strained smile in return. "Hello, Hannah. Nice day, I presume?"

Hannah didn't seem to have heard her, however; her eyes were fixed to the back of Oliver's head. "Mel, you got a guy here?" she squealed in excitement.

"It's merely Oliver, Hannah," she said dully.

"Oh," Hannah replied, clearly disappointed. She dumped her bag on the sofa beside Oliver, who turned to her with a mischievous expression.

"What, am I not good enough for you?" he asked her in an obviously flirty tone that made Hannah giggle and blush, and Melanie roll her eyes. The former disappeared upstairs after one last giggle.

"Disgusting," she commented when he turned back to her. He merely grinned in reply, his arms behind his head.

"She's cute," he stated. Melanie nearly gagged as she brought the tea cups to him.

"She's annoying," Melanie replied, looking at him as if he had lost his mind. Who knew Oliver had a thing for annoying, giggly girls? The thought made her shudder. "But enough about Hannah," she placed his tea cup in front of him. "Spill."

"Yeah, you spilled a little here," he pointed to someplace on the tablecloth. He wasn't looking into her eyes.

"Oliver..." she started warningly. "Tell me now."

"But, but I can't! What if Hannah hears? It's too dangerous—!"

"You can simply whisper, Ollie," she said in a simpering voice.

He looked at her dark expression, then back at his tea, as if searching for a solution. "Fine," he replied at last. "Fine, I'll tell you if you promise not to scream."

"Is it that bad?" she asked with dread.

He winced. "Er...no. No, of course not! I just told someone."

Her heart jumped to her throat. She restrained herself from screaming in panic with difficulty. "_Who_?" She knew she would start shrieking after all if she had to take the suspense any longer.

"Erm..." he glanced at her with a pleading look, as if asking in advance not to murder him. "Sean Walker," he finally murmured.

She could have a heard a pin drop in the dead silence that followed. Her headache came back, with full, pounding force.

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